That was Hervey Willetts all over, to make a ridiculous appointment with a stranger before he had so much as greeted his step-parents. And for such a purpose! Truly, he was hopeless. The house in which he lived and in which he had been born was a plain house, immaculately white, with well kept grounds about it. It was a typical New England place; old-fashioned, a model of order inside and out, eloquent of simplicity and unostentatious prosperity. Mr. Walton owned a large stationery store on the main street and his quiet, uneventful life was spent between this peak-roofed, white and green homestead and his attractive store which was a medley of books, post cards, pennants, Indian souvenirs and stationery. Mrs. Walton was not above waiting on customers in her husband’s store, especially in the season when Farrelton was overrun with “summer folks.” On this momentous evening, the returning prodigal found his step-parents at home and he received an affectionate greeting. The occasion would have been favorable for telling about the ultimatum he had received at camp, but he did not do it. Next summer seemed such a long time off! Why worry about next summer when he had an appointment to “throw down” a dare that very night? “Well, Hervey,” said Mr. Walton, “we’re glad you had a good summer. You didn’t write often, but I always told Mum that no news is good news. And here you are safe and sound. “And as brown as a mulatto,” said Mrs. Walton, drawing him to her and caressing him affectionately. “Now for school, hey?” said Mr. Walton pleasantly. “Next summer, or maybe the summer after that, Mum and I are going to have a jaunt, maybe. Will you let us go, Herve?” “Sure thing, go as far as you like with me,” said Hervey. Mrs. Walton laughed, and drawing him close again, caressed him fondly. “Well, that’s a long way off,” said she. “Maybe you’ll be entering Harvard by then; we’re such slow pokes, dad and I. We’ll probably end by not going at all. Europe seems so terribly far.” “Europe is nothing,” said Hervey. “I’m going to Montana.” “Well, first you’re going to school,” laughed Mr. Walton. “Pity the poor school,” said Hervey. “Oh, not as bad as that,” his stepfather commented pleasantly. “I kind of think you’re going to be different this fall. Not get into any scrapes, huh? Study hard, stay in the Scouts, and not give your mother any worries. What do you say?” “You know me, Al,” said Hervey, which reply was not altogether explicit or satisfactory. But it moved Mrs. Walton to embrace him again. “And you’re going to stay in the Scouts, aren’t you?” she asked. “Of course he is,” said Mr. Walton. “They weren’t all as lucky as you, Hervey, to be up at a fine camp all summer. I saw Bert Alston yesterday. He was asking when you were coming back. I told him we wouldn’t know till we saw you.” “That’s me,” said Hervey. “I’ve got nothing against the Scouts.” “Well then, I hope you’ll stay more among them,” said Mr. Walton. “They’re a good sort.”